More Than A Number
by Recklin
Summary: I feel a strange tingling in my fingertips as I stare into his eyes, and suddenly, I don't know how, but know I can do it. "Forget about me. Forget everything about me, like we never even met. For you, I'll be... Nothing more than a number." But that's the thing about powerful Legacies, for me at least. They have a tendency to backfire, powerfully.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own the Lorien Legacies series, etc.**

**Timeline:**

**This story starts in the year 2010, not long before the Garde number Three is killed.**

**Summary:**

_**I feel a strange tingling in my fingertips as I stare into his eyes, and suddenly, I don't know how, but know I can do it.**_

_**"Forget about me. Forget everything about me, like we never even met. For you, I'll be... Nothing more than a number."**_

_**But that's the thing about powerful Legacies, for me at least. They have a tendency to backfire, powerfully.**_

* * *

_More Than A Number_

_Chapter 1: Break A Leg_

"Mum..." I cringe slightly as she fusses over the last touches to my eyeliner. The car swerves sharply right and I can't help but think what a dangerous idea it is to mess with makeup in a moving vehicle. And considering the kind of wild driver my dad is... Really, it's a disaster just waiting to happen.

But my mum, she just tuts at me and tells me to purse my lips.

"No!" I cry out in horror as she pulls out the deadly tube. Dear god, I do not want that poisonous substance near my mouth!

Her laugh is on the verge of maniacal at my expression. "Don't be silly." Playfully, she whacks me on the head with her expensive _Gadino_ handbag; one she'd bought just the previous night in order to "celebrate my upcoming success" in the auditions. Her excuses just seem to get wilder and wilder, but my dad at least finds it all amusing. "You don't need to look any more girlish!" she says.

My pale skin is now flushed bright pink, I'm sure. But worse than my embarrassment is my shock at a sudden thought. The auditions. In just under an hour, I'm going to be standing under the sweltering bright lights where my entire future could be decided. The life I've dreamed of ever since I can remember is coming so close; this will be my one chance to reach out and grab it.

I feel a slimy film of sweat coat my palms at the very idea, and I don't need to worry about blushing anymore because I'm as pale as a ghost. If I miss this chance, I'll be plunged into senior school exams and swept away in a tide of studying. No matter how many pretty bags my mother buys, we all know it's my grandparents who hold the purse strings. And they've made it very clear that my failure here will mean I'm just not cut out for the life of a performer. They'll insist on my becoming a doctor, or a lawyer, or a _dentist_. I stared fixedly at the _Gadino_ bag, seeking comfort from the cool white color and its brand new factory smell, only to feel even less at ease when I remembered the very fabric was made of crocodile skin. _Yuck._

My mum, being her usual self, she completely misread my anxiety. "Trust me darling, you look gorgeous."

Well, I was back to being pink as one of Annie's fluffy unicorn plushies, and I'm not exaggerating when I say their sugary artificial coloring is as blinding and luminescent as the sun.

Much to my disbelief, at that moment a shocking coincidence happened. My mum suddenly pulled from her bag one of the very objects I had been describing; Fabian the cuddly magenta unicorn.

Slightly repulsed by the thing, I shuffled back in my seat until I was pressed up against the car door.

My mother grinned somewhat sadistically at my expression. "Your little sister made me promise to have you bring him on stage, for luck. She'll be sitting in the front row, you know!"

_Good luck or BAD LUCK?_

Dear god, someone with looks like mine (and I mean that in no good way) has trouble not attracting attention in rush hour city subway. Going on center stage plastered with showy makeup and dress, microphone in one sweaty hand and clutching my little sister's Fabian in the other? Forget killing my dream, even murdering my reputation! It was going to scare me to death!

* * *

I mean in no way to be arrogant when I say that these auditions are every bit as big as _Australia's Got Talent_, at least for my city. The huge yearly production held by the major theater, _Rickardson's_, summons practically every single person in the city and many from out. I'd say the streets were deserted those three days, except I, like most everyone else, have never been out to see.

As I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the horde wanna-be-divas and their wanna-child-diva parents pressing in on me from all sides, I can feel a panic attack coming on. Thankfully, my own parents had dropped me off at the hall, knowing all about my claustrophobia issues and trying to give me some space, for once at least. I hate to admit it, but my stage fright is truly awful. I squeeze Fabian tighter.

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high..."_

I freeze as everyone spins around to stare at me. I'd forgotten that the unicorn was one of those horrid, "press me and I'll scare the shit out of you" toys. All I can think was dazedly; gee, wish it was me who sung that good... Maybe I could have Fabian stand in for me.

Luckily, I'm saved from stonification by the many Medusas when the audition organizers begin pushing through the crowd, asking politely for all the parents to please leave.

I slump back in the chair, quietly stow the guilty unicorn underneath, and wait patiently while the room empties and only us kids are left, a tangle of nerves in our chairs.

There were a few exceptions, however.

"Hey. My name's Riley," the girl next to me announces, practically shoving her hand into mine. "Nice to meet you," she smiles.

Riley has a proud but kindly face, and I'm a little relieved to see her shock of rich brown hair exploding out of her high ponytail. I know it's both stereotypical _and_ hypocritical of me to say this, but it makes her seem so much more real than the stock of bottle blonds who make up the majority of the auditionees. My own hair is a wavy, creamy blond mop, but I'd refused to dye it when my mum asked. This may sound stupid, but I didn't want to change my appearance for the stage, as much as I can avoid it. I want to keep my singing and acting as separate as possible from my looks, so I can earn my part from skill alone.

"Are you after the role of Carmen as well?" she prompts me, and with a start I realize I'd left her waiting.

"Uh... Gabry." There's a momentarily pause while I space out, trying desperately to remember the name of the role I wanted so badly. "No, I'm aiming for Nick, um, Piazza..." I trail off at her expression of shock.

"You're a boy!?" She's disbelieving.

"..." I opt not to answer that.

"You look so..." Riley was clearly struggling with words. "Pretty."

I wince. Yeah, that's me, she hit the nail right on the head. Why couldn't my parents have given me a tough, masculine name like Greg or something? _Because it wouldn't suit you_, my sarcastic side snips. At least she just called me pretty- and didn't mention Fabian.

"You'd do better in a girl's role, kiddo," she teases me, but before I can reply, we're interrupted by one of the audition organizers reaching us and handing out our numbers. Riley flashes me a thirteen and grins, saying, "Lucky me."

I'm slightly surprised and in no nice way when I look down at my hands to see a big black blocky number eleven staring back at me. It looks like the order is randomized, but there are nearly eighty kids in this stuffy hall. Was it too much to ask for something in the forties? Even Riley's thirteen I'd have preferred; with Fabian in my arms, how much more bad luck could that legitimately give me?

Unlike my dear mother, Riley has a talent for mind-reading. "Hey, I don't think it's against the rules to swap. You don't look so good, kid, and I might just be willing to do you a nice favor," she winked. "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, get it while you can!"

I'm not one to let a great bargain pass me by. "Alright, thanks." We exchange cards and share a smile.

Then out of the blue, Riley says; "Hey, maybe I could have your cell phone number?"

I start. This was weird, I'd never got asked anything like this from practically a total stranger. "Why?" I think I even stammer slightly.

She shrugs, and I marvel in her ability to make this seem so casual. Wasn't she ever shy? "We may be co-actors soon! Think of it like a pre-victory pact. Besides, we've already swapped one set of them."

Tentatively, I agree and we each have ten digits scribbled on our arms. Hopefully sweat won't render it illegible later. Gross.

Though talking to her calmed me greatly about the upcoming trial, I can practically feel butterflies swarming inside my stomach. I mean, a girl asked me for my number. No, forget that; I, Gabriel Dorian West, actually got this girl's number? It was kind of hard to believe, I mean, even my name's so, well... Girly. My parents say they called me that because I'm their 'fallen angel'. Anna was also apparently named after an angel of prosperity... Hence her gift of a "lucky" charm.

"Break a leg," I remember to mutter as audition number eleven is called.

Riley shoots me a grin and saunters out for the stage, her back straight and tall and brimming with confidence.

I wish I felt like that. After two more performances, it would be my turn. Nervously, I try to wipe the sweat off my palms and onto my trousers, but the friction only makes them burn up hotter.

It occurs to me then that Riley may have been intending to message me during my performance and sabotage me. I shake my head and call myself paranoid, but nevertheless, set my cell to silent.

That's when I hear the screaming.

* * *

"Riley!" I shout without thinking, bolting after her, but with a tangle of legs- both human and chair- blocking my path down the narrow corridor, I only make it to the door before I'm hastily shoved aside, two grown men carrying my new friend's unconscious body between them.

I don't know why, but instinctively I think they're trying to kidnap her. Angrily I strike out at the bigger of the two, but he barely seems to feel it at all. However, it does bring me to his attention.

"Whoa, whoa kid," he puts his hands up in a surrender gesture. "Eleven here fainted. It's just classic stage fright, no worries."

Seeing he means no harm, I immediately relax, then realize: stage fright, Riley? Though I don't exactly know her, that definitely doesn't add up...

"Can't believe that audience," he's muttering. "All that screaming; drama freaks. They've no idea the pressure they're putting on these kids."

The other guy, who had gone to grab some bottled water off some auditionee, returned and started splashing it on Riley's face, but I knock it out of his hands.

"Hey!" he exclaims, surprised, but I pay no attention, and ruthlessly rip open her shirt.

_Now_ the men are about to assault me when I yell and point at Riley's shoulder. "She's been shot!"

* * *

**A/N:**

**Leave your thoughts in a review? Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it alright!**

**Oh yeah. It's supposed to be _slightly ridiculous._**

_**- Recklin**_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:  
**  
**Thanks to:**

**This chapter is dedicated to users _Mysteryfanaticno1_, and _IwishIcouldbeNumberFive_! Both of which have some pretty amazing LL fanfics up, hehe...**

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own the Lorien Legacies series, etc. All characters which have appeared so far are my own originals, though you may look forward to the canon characters... In the very, very distant future. *Smirk***

**Characters:**

_**Gabriel Dorian West, nicknames: "Gabry", "Gabs". The main character and current narrator of this fic, an OC. Currently living a comfortable and normal life with his parents and little sister (Anna, "Annie") in a large city somewhere in Australia. Aspires to become an actor and singer.**_

_**Riley Catlyn O'Denridge. A girl Gabry met in the waiting room for auditions. After swapping numbers (two kinds) with him, Gabry wished her a 'broken leg' (that's stage-talk 'good luck'!) only for her to get shot instead when she walked on stage...!**_

_**Fabian. The blindingly bright pink unicorn plushie belonging to Gabry's little sister. Apparently he's a good luck charm (questionable).**_

* * *

_Chapter 2: Homewrecker_

"He's soaked, my Fabian is soaked!" My little sister cries into her unicorn plushie, only serving to make the fur wetter.

"I'm sorry," I apologized for at least the twentieth time that day. Apparently, in my act of pushing one of the men away, I'd slapped the water bottle he'd been using in an effort to revive Riley, and the lid had of course been open... Inadvertently getting the stuffed toy all wet. So despite possibly saving Riley and all, I end up causing Annie to cry... I guess this just goes to show how every little action has consequences. Or something deep like that. "It's just water, it'll dry off..." I try and calm her.

"Gabriel," my dad speaks up finally, and for once I notice his driving is exceptionally smooth. _Weird_. "What on earth happened out there? Your mother had just dragged me off to the snack-bar and when we got back, the place was in chaos and surrounded by ambulances..."

My smile is slightly strained. So my parents would have missed my performance if it hadn't been for Riley, huh. "Some kind of accident, the girl auditioning got... Injured, somehow." I'm not sure what to say. For some reason, I'm not especially eager to tell my family about the risks of performing on stage. They might decide it too dangerous a profession for me!

The rest of the car ride passes in the usual lighthearted and over-animated conversation. I don't pay attention, just spend most of I praying that Riley will be okay. There had been very little bleeding, and it looked like it had missed her heart, luckily, but there is no doubt in my mind the shot had been aimed to kill. I just don't know why. How could I? I barely even know Riley. It really has nothing to do with me.

"Don't worry, Gabs," my mother smirks and leans over to pinch my cheek when the car pulls up in our drive. "This just means that victory phone call is a little delayed, that's all."

Oh did she get that one wrong. I just nod absently and follow my family out of the car.

* * *

The house is a wreck. Shattered glass litters the floor where the intruder had smashed in a window and entered. Every book had been pulled from its shelf, now lying in a dismembered heap with many pages strewn around, ripped ruthlessly from their bodies. The fridge and cupboard had received the same treatment, all their contents are spoiled on the ground. My own bedroom had been hit the worst: desk and bed overturned, fish tank in pieces, even the floorboards were wrenched out of place. It looks like a bomb had gone off here. I'm only glad that I gave up on keeping fish two years ago.

It's a sort of surreal experience. We'd been gone barely three hours and the house is unrecognizable. I can remember the place of each and every object so clearly that I could almost fool myself, until I stub my toe on the _Apollo 11_ model I'd made when I was ten, which had formerly hung suspended from the ceiling. I only recognize its remains from the rest of the trashed stuff thanks to the extra-pointy part I'd spent hours sharpening to a wicked end, explaining to my laughing father that it would make it much more streamlined. Dad and I had poured days, weeks into that model, only for it to die such a violent, hateful and sudden death. I only feel numb.

Anna starts crying again, and my parents- dropping their talk of insurance- rush to comfort her. I wander about the house in a daze.

I just don't understand. Why would anyone target my family like this? Target... My...

Then it clicks.

_Of course_. Riley and I had swapped places right before she'd been shot. And then I come and find my house looking like it'd been hit by a hurricane? Not a coincidence.

Me. Someone is targeting _me_.

_Why?_ The only thing I can possibly think of is the auditions, and to go this far over one little role, they'd have to be a complete psychopath! Although looking around, that's not really in question.

"Gabry! We're going to call the police, then book the next few nights in a hotel, alright? Try not to touch anything, there could be evidence."

"Yeah... Coming, Dad," I snap out of my spell and shout back to him, picking my way carefully through the rubble that was my home.

* * *

The police didn't bother much with me, they pretty much simply handed me a cup of hot chocolate while they talked with my parents over in the next room.

I knew the police service had their hands full today with a certain freak shooting across town, but being ignored like that pissed me off. Come on, I'm fifteen years old. My parents never excluded me from this stuff; even if nothing like this has exactly happened before... They just don't leave me out!

But there was my little sister to take care of. I, who am usually so adverse to any form of human contact, cuddled Anna and her stupid still-damp pink unicorn plush until she cried herself to sleep on the couch- even when she shifted and accidentally set off the singing horror- and when we left the police station, I carried her to the car myself. I was fifteen years old and I was in shock. I couldn't imagine what this would be like through the eyes of a four year old, who burst into tears when I spilled water on her doll.

When we get to the hotel, my father flicks on the television. Of course, the "_Rickardson's_ Disturbance" is the starring item on tonight's news.

_"... police confirm that a special, currently unidentified kind of bullet was used in the shooting, one they hope will help find the attacker. So far, the chemical compounds in the metal continue to confuse analysts. There are witnesses who claim to have seen a figure fleeing the scene of the crime, but can only describe the individual as wearing long, dark clothes..._

_"At thirty-four minutes past two this afternoon, Riley O'Denridge sustained a serious blow to the lower shoulder when an individual armed with a gun shot her as she stepped onto the stage for her audition in _Rickardson's Theatre's_ upcoming production of the musical "_Fame_". The talented seventeen year-old had been trying out specifically for the role of Carmen Diaz, following her life-long dream of a career in both singing and dancing. While the event is sparking a full police investigation, doctors assure us that O'Denridge will in time make a full recovery and for now, _Rickardson Productions_ are willing to take her audition sitting down."_

The track, "_Dancing Queen_" starts playing along with a montage of Riley photos- looks like they'd been a little too hopeful for a tragic death story here. And although I like the song well enough, I can't help but think how little it suits the strong, bold girl that I'd met.

I switch off the tv and turn to my parents, determined to tell them everything.

* * *

... I chickened out. I'm just not a very determined person, I guess. Staring up at the domed, lattice-patterned ceiling of tonight's bedroom, I kill time pretending that today's just another one of those days when my father pulled me out in the middle of third period English and announced a trip to the beach. Tomorrow we'll be sunbathing on the sand, swimming in the sea and racing against the sun in an ice-cream eating competition.

I always find it easy to get lost in fantasies like these. It's the very reason I want so badly to be an actor and a singer. One of my very first memories is of hiding in my closet past midnight, a torch in one hand and a hefty tome of a book- wasn't it _The Dark Elf Trilogy_?- in the other. The real world is fine and all, but who in it doesn't long for more?

My skin prickles, I suddenly grow aware of the weight of a stony gaze resting on my face. Pushing my chin down to look around the room, my blue eyes are met by a pair of beady black buttons.

Oh, it was just him.

Take Fabian for example, the annoyingly pink unicorn sitting on my stomach. We all know horses with horns don't exist, let alone fluro hair. But people simply love the fabricated fantasy of it all, don't they...

No matter how comfortably you live, we're all here in this world of discontentment, stealing things from the false dream realm to try and fill that void. I want to bring the world into my own dream, one where everything is complete.

"Gabry, quit your internal monologuing, we're going down to the restaurant for dinner!"

Wow, that was spot on, Dad! My parents certainly help with the peaceful illusion; they seem almost unaffected by the chaos of today, taking it all in their stride. I guess that's just the kind of personalities they are.

I'm not all that sure we're very alike.

* * *

**A/N:**

**That was shorter than last time, I'm sorry. Hope you enjoyed in any case, and if you did, you know you could always support me by reviewing!**

**Next chapter: who is Riley, and what does she know about what's going on...?**

**- _Recklin_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**Disclaimer:**

**Still not owning the LL series. I'll let you know when I do, hah.**

**Trivia:**

**Both Gabry's parents are Cancer? I don't know how this happened, but they're always pinching him...!**

* * *

Chapter 3: Sleepwalker

_It's bright, too bright, and I squint my eyes, impatient for them to adjust. It's burning up the sky, the fire seems to swallow the blue whole, consume it. I blink rapidly and after a moment, my blindness recedes and I look about._

_I'm surrounded; everywhere I look, there's no end. Trees, trees and more trees, all dark dank bark and lush laurel green. Though of course their only movement is the swaying of branches under the trickle of wind, I can't help but feel unnerved by them all. The trees aren't hostile exactly, at least not to me. But they're on edge, and it sets me there, too. It's a sudden break in the canopy overhead which let the light shock me. It's still too strong, itching at my eyes, and I lift up a hand to shield myself, though when I do, something seems odd; my reach strangely short. That in itself I wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't completely at odds with my viewpoint. Seven gods, how did I ever get so _tall_?_

_"Shit," I hear a muttering from below. Feeling corded muscles shift under my thighs, I realize it must be I'm being carried on someone's shoulders. "We're not going to make it," they snarl under their breath._

_I can clearly understand what the person is saying, but at the same time, it's like I don't get it at all. They're speaking a whole other language. It sounds like french. Angry french, and it scares, no, it terrifies me._

_For a dizzying moment, the trees, ground, everything around us seem to vanish... Then they're back._

_But no, I'm wrong; they're different. The slight lapse in the blanketing leaves overheard is gone and we're plunged entirely into the musty forest gloom, pressed in tight between a web of branches, their thin, spindly limbs reaching out, trying to snare us. Or maybe they're attempting to comfort, protect us. I don't know, as our stay is fleeting; flashes of trees just pass us by._

_In the distance, I begin to hear bangs, growing louder._

_The person beneath me is panting, out of breath. One thick tree truck smacks into their shoulder and they stumble back with a grunt of pain. I can feel their sweat drenching their shirt and making my pants stick uncomfortably to their shoulders. Still the forest scenes flash by with increasing speed and I clench my eyes tight, fighting the nausea, and grip the person's hair tightly. In one hand, I'm also holding some kind of weird, smooth stick. I don't know what it is, but to my muddled mind it seems important. If only it would come to me what to do with it._

_Suddenly we're out of the forest, I know it because the glaring light burns through my eyelids, a searing yellow-orange. Ignoring the pain, I wrench my eyes open, hungrily drinking in the strange sights._

_The sky's dyed a raging red, it's the color of hatred. Explosions burst into bloom along its length, and with a transfixed kind of horror, I think them beautiful. The soundtrack is bangs, clangs and screams, but they only serve to deafen me further from the reality of it all._

_Only the expression painted on the man's face before me has me stir. It's not one I've ever seen before, but it still strikes a chord deep down, and I know it to be pure fear. He yells something at us; it sounded like names, and again, I know them, but I don't recognize them._

_I felt myself roughly lifted; the person carrying me reaches back and pulls me up. I'm pushed into the man's arms. His clothes are tainted with the scents of sweat, blood, gunpowder and desperation. By squirming around, I manage to twist my head around and catch a glimpse of the other person. She- for it is a female- is wearing a nasty scowl. My new carrier stumbles backwards, frightened of the woman, or her expression, or both._

_She's shouting, yelling; "I'm doing my part, you do yours!" And then there's something else I don't catch._

_For a moment, her cold sapphire eyes meet mine, and I feel strangely comforted despite the hatred I find there. The hatred isn't for me, I know._

_She starts forward, pushing past us, knocking the man holding me to the side._

_Then the ground trembles and shakes._

* * *

Shaking, everything's shaking.

"Gabry, _Gabriel_," I hear someone saying quietly, but I'm concentrating on my balance, trying to resist the tremors. "Gabry!"

I open my eyes, and the sudden sense of vertigo has me slumping forwards into my dad's arms. He'd been shaking my shoulders, trying to wake me.

"Hey, are you okay?" he envelops me in a bear hug, and I nod into his shirt. It smells like fabric softener, so familiar and ordinary, and I instantly relax.

"Sleepwalking again," he sighs. "Hotel locks not good enough for you?"

When I feel the breeze crawl through my hair, tugging it every which way, I jump back and look around, shocked onto alert. The cold concrete against the soles of my feet should have been clue enough. I'm outside, on the hotel's balcony.

Padding over to the rail, I lean over, dangling my arms put over the street below, still bustling with traffic even at this hour in the morning. The bright city lights are shouting up at me, too noisy for my sleepy eyes, and I shut them tight once again. I'm exhausted, worn out. Whatever I'd been dreaming about, though I couldn't remember it, I guess it hadn't been restful stuff.

"Do you think you'll be able to get back to sleep?" My father asks, to which I simply shrug and look skywards.

The stars are hidden by fog, but I though I see nothing, I feel a glint of light to the west. There's a space in the night my eyes seem simply drawn to. Space huh. Remembering my wrecked _Apollo 11_, a question, unbidden, pops into my head, and before I know it I'm voicing it aloud.

"What would it be like inside a spaceship?" my dad echoes with a smile. "Hm. After a few days, exceptionally small, I'd imagine."

Ignoring that, I continue absently; "I wonder what it's like. Flying through space and everything..."

He grins and pinches my weak, flimsy upper arm. "Astronauts need exceptional fitness as well as brains," my dad teases. "Lose any more and those biceps of yours will fade out of existence."

I frown, can't close my eyes to the truth in that. "Okay, I hear you. I'll stick to make-believe."

* * *

_Four hours later..._

"Breakfast is served!" My mother has that horribly wicked smirk again as she dumps a pile of, _what exactly?_ On my plate.

Expressionlessly, I try not to think about it too much as I begin shovelling it down my mouth, at the same time busy with pulling my tie tight around my neck and double knotting my laces, ready for the day's episode of school. Even though my mum is an unpredictable cook, better her than me. My family won't let me near the kitchen appliances, not since my fifth attempt at omelet nearly burnt the house down. I don't know _how. _I just space out a little and then, well.

"Gabby," my little sister toddles out of her room, still in her cute _My Little Pony_ pajamas, both arms wrapped around one of Fabian's many siblings, fortunately a more subdued shade of purple. "G'morn," she yawns blearily, halfheartedly rubbing at her eyes.

I drift over to the fridge and pour us some glasses of chocolate milkshake, one of which she accepts.

"Your father will drive the two of you across town in a minute, be ready!" Mum tells her before skipping off.

Annie nods listlessly in response, despite the fact that mum's already gone. Even though I know Anna slept like a rock, she still looks tired, something that's hard to reconcile with her.

"Gabs," she says suddenly, looking at me, and points to the unicorn lolling back on the counter. "Take Fabby with."

Take- _oh god no_. I recoil.

"He's lucky," she insists stubbornly. "Fabby'll protect you."

"Protect me?" I repeat, taken aback. Let's just focus on that and not debate the lucky factor.

She bobs her head up and down determinedly. "Yup."

"Then shouldn't we have him protect you?" I ask in a kind of daze, a weird feeling taking root in my stomach. Could little Annie possibly know about me being in danger?

Anna hesitates, then sends her hair flying with her headshake. "No! I want Gabby safe."

"I'm fine." Unconvincingly, I try to tell her; "You don't need to worry about me." I don't say that her big brother can look after himself; even with a crybaby of a four year old, I'd be walking right into that one.

"But you were numb'a eleven," she says, and I freeze. "They tried to shoot Gabby..."

"How do you know I was number eleven!" I exclaim, eyes wide.

"Micky had me chose," Annie blinks innocently. "I said eleven!"

"Micky...?" I stare. My best friend, Mike? And only friend, until I met Riley I suppose. She doesn't mean him, does she?

From within my blazer pocket, my phone buzzes, the notes of _Necrofantasia_ fill the air, which incidentally sort of spoils the mysterious atmosphere. Sigh. I weigh it in my hands a moment before slipping it open and answering simply; "Hello...?"

"_Gabry? It's Riley, Riley O'Denridge_," the voice on the other end says.

* * *

Holding a palm over the microphone, I automatically say, "Excuse me," to my little sister and wander over to the next room. I guess I don't want her to know any more about the shooting than she already does. After all, someone got_ shot_. It's dangerous.

"What is it?" I say when I'm alone. "Are you okay?"

"_Yeah, still kicking_," she answers. "_Just not, you know, doing arm stuff_." Hearing her in spirits the same as ever, I feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. Riley doesn't sound at all affected by what happened.

"_Where are you?_" Riley questions me.

I look around the hotel. "Home," I lie. What, do you think I would just bring up about how my home was wrecked? It's not something I want to talk about; after all, what would I get but pity?

"_Great, just great. Gabry, get out of there now!_" she orders me, acting all bossy.

Bewildered, I say; "Okay, I'm going to school in a minute."

For a moment, there's silence, then, in an incomparably dark tone; "_Whatever you do, do _not_ go to school._"

Admittedly, I'm a little scared by that. "What? Why?"

"_Trust me! Can you get over here? I'm in the hospital_," her words are hurried, and I remember I'm on a tight schedule too. If this takes much longer, my mum and sister will forget me and just leave... Ah! I can't let that happen.

"No, I have to be in class," I tell her. "Look, I'll call you back later."

I hear a low growl through the receiver. "_Gabry!_"

I flinch. "Tell me what's going on and then I'll trust you," I try to return as evenly as possible, though I'm starting to freak. "Why shouldn't I go to school? And... Why did they shoot at you?"

"_We both know you're the one they want, isn't that right?_"

There is something almost sinister about the way she said that, so much so that I shiver. And it definitely is not cold over here in Australia.

Riley continues; "_I know about your little _game_, Gabry, and it got me shot. Isn't that enough proof that I'm not with them? Just tell me. What number are you?_"

Pulling the phone away from my ear, I stare at it a moment. I have no idea what she's talking about, but I don't like it. Plus I'm in a hurry, I don't have time to unravel whatever this is Riley's going on about. I shouldn't be late to class... I press the button with _END_ inscribed on it, though the very next second, left in the room with only silence, I immediately regret it. I'll spend all day in school wondering what she meant; how will I be able to concentrate? My attention span is already dismal enough...

Numbers? That's what she asked about. Thinking of the twelve digits total I'd swapped with her back at the auditions, all I can come up with is that the girl has an unhealthy obsession with them.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Actually, Riley only got more mysterious. Oh, well.**

**Next chapter: school. We don't want to be late...**

**- ****_Recklin_**


End file.
